Whoever came up with the notion of surety in death and taxes forgot something in that cliche of an equation: questions. You know...the ones everyone pops at any social occasion and gathering in well meaning wonderment in the great quest of finding out what you plan on doing with the rest of your life...Unless you live in  camper off the side of an artic river in ALASKA, you know which plethora of which can or worms of which questions to which I am referring: 

When you're single:  Who are you dating? (Are you a lesbian?)

You're dating: When are you getting married? (Are you worthy of the great institution of that dated term Bride-elect so we can put your name in the church bulletin as if you are running for a political office?)

When you're married: When do you think you guys will have a baby? (Gah procreate already!)

When you have one: Two? (Only children are weird) 

 And just when you're stupid enough to think the maddening qeue of questions have quite surely come to an end...

ARE YOU DONE????

I find myself faced with this perpetual question constantly. And that's a fine question to ask. I'm not one of those overreactive self righteous people who inflict guilt upon those who question, because I have been known to ask it myself on occasion. It's what we do. (You're socially aloof and fooling no one if you think you are above the great questions.) But am I officially finished? Are we DONE? Is the baby factory closed forever?  Can Jamin drive himself to the hospital and book that appointment he's been willing to make since Emerson was born? Can we both retire to the one hit wonder hall of fame for the all time greatest hits, throw out the baby swing, bouncy, bottles, and maternity clothes forever? 

For once in my life, I am PROUD to say, I don't know. This is a huge deal for me. I knew what my husband and children would LOOK like when I was in the fifth grade. So, needless to say, I'm content with the unknown right now.

I find myself questioning others in my perpetual journey of questions and answers: Which is harder? One to two or two to three? (Which is the dumbest question one could ask.) As if the answer will help decide my fate in baby land, family planning and finding comfort that the Quest can hold one more car seat, or that our playroom can be turned into one last dream nursery. (Who needs a bigger house in this economy? Another list for the pros and cons...)

I find myself looking at Emerson as she screams in refusal to take a nap, realizing that I have killed two appliances in her short life (blow dryer and handi vac) and wondering what feat Aiden will try to accomplish next, in his own personal mission to drive mommy crazy from his prospect of hard headed strong-willed toddler world, as he literally head butts me to make his way into the playroom closet while I try to comfort screaming Emmy who I just found buried under yet another pile of pillows... wondering if I will EVER HAVE A CAREER let alone CLEAN LAUNDRY and then realize that there is NO possible way on EARTH that three children can get ANY worse than what I PERSONALLY have experienced these last six months. And NO ONE can scare me into thinking any differently based on their experience or their mom's experience, or their grandmother's or aunt's or mom's sister's cousins dog's own nightmare of child raising. And NO, I AM NEVER HAVING ANOTHER CHILD, because I DON'T want to be the women's basket weaving instructor at the local WOMEN's WARD where they put the CRAZIES after they find me rocking back and forth hugging the breast pump on the roof of our house while Aiden throws rocks at me from the yard, Emerson cries in her swing and Chloe runs amuck in the neighborhood because I quit feeding her three days ago.

Call me tomorrow, after I've slept off the stoning from my own son, awoken to a fresh pot of coffee made by my adoring husband...and I will tell you that despite aforementioned issues, babies are the most miraculous life changing incredible thing you will ever experience, children are the greatest blessing God can give you, and sign me up for lamaze because third time's a charm!!! There's a slight twinge of sadness at closing those doors forever. And if I'm honest with myself, a slight twinge of excitement when the next friend has her baby.

I just threw up in my mouth a little. Okay. Too soon.

People say they're done, but they don't exactly jump at the opportunity to get their nips and tucks like they should, and people say they want their nips and tucks, but someone's wife won't let them  because she just isn't sure...and likes the idea of not knowing...maybe it's my version of moving to Hawaii and working as a waitress for a year after we married because it sounded fun, and yet we never did. A red eye to Hawaii, with sagging woman parts, and more seats reserved in the cockpit. 

Maybe there is excitement in the unknown, and maybe, just maybe...I'll keep it right where I want it for now.